


easy beginnings

by palmcitrus



Series: every third echo [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, Jealousy, Jon’s insecurity lowkey fucks everything up for him, M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, Morning After, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Canon, Research days, Sharing a Bed, a distinct lack of love confessions, or at least they’re getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmcitrus/pseuds/palmcitrus
Summary: Of course, lying alone in Tim’s bed, surrounded by Tim’s smell, thinking about him lying there every other night and lying alone on the couch tonight, was not a great recipe to put Jon to sleep.Not that Tim’s smell couldn’t be relaxing. God knows he was a grounding presence for him pretty much constantly nowadays. But it was different, like this, when all Jon could think about was the fact that at night, it became a dozen times harder for him to deny the way Tim made him feel, and the fact that the bed was definitely big enough for two.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker (mentioned)
Series: every third echo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810348
Comments: 23
Kudos: 195





	easy beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Tim and Jon’s FWB: origins. Enjoy!

The first time Jon went home with Tim, he didn't intend to sleep with him. He didn’t even intend to kiss him. 

All he _intended_ to do was finish up research on this stupid supposedly-haunted mining cave, which was taking far longer than it should and had been driving him mad for the past few days, and he wouldn’t have left the Institute at all were it not for Tim’s gentle hands on his shoulders coaxing him away with the promise of _You can work on this back at my place, come with me and I’ll make you dinner and we’ll get this done together._

So he’d gathered his things and sat at Tim’s kitchen table tapping away relentlessly as Tim cooked them both Khmer curry, and his irritation had slowly begun to ebb. 

By the time he resumed working, dishes cleared and Tim seated next to him, his headache was gone, and Tim’s presence beside him was helpful for more than just the research, a balm on his irritated, frayed mind. 

Tim always poked out his tongue when he was concentrating. Jon bit down on a grateful smile, and forced his focus back to his work. 

  
  


“Hey,” a voice said, some unknown amount of time later. “Jon, get up, c’mon.”

He lifted his head and blinked, processing where he was—still at the table—and focused on Tim’s face watching his.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, and shook his head to try to clear the tiredness. “Oh, Lord. Well, guess that means it’s time to call it for the night. Let me grab my stuff and I’ll get going.”

Tim just rolled his eyes. “You just passed out at the table, Jon, I’m not going to make you go home like this,” he said. “Come take my bed.”

Jon wanted to argue, but the heavy remnants of sleep were still tugging at his eyelids, and Tim’s hand guiding him was gentle and comforting, so he just nodded. 

When he flopped down on the bed, Tim broke away to dig a too-large t-shirt from his drawer and toss it to him. “Do you need anything else?”

“Are you sleeping on the couch?” he asked.

Tim shrugged. “I was going to go get some more work done, then yeah.”

“I—you don’t need to work any more tonight,” Jon said, propping up on his elbows.

Tim let out an incredulous laugh. “Jonathan Sims, telling me I don’t need to work? I’m going to go check outside real quick, make sure pigs aren’t flying—”

“Tim,” Jon said, fake-exasperated, and sat up. “Don’t stay up on my account, please.”

As exhausted as he had been just a few minutes ago, his body was awake now, ready to argue with Tim as always. But Tim just gave him a strange little smile, one that was maybe a bit...surprised? Touched? And then gently shut the door behind him. 

_He’d better not be working,_ Jon thought, and flopped back down with a sigh. 

Of course, lying alone in Tim’s bed, surrounded by Tim’s smell, thinking about him lying there every other night and lying alone on the couch tonight, was not a great recipe to put Jon to sleep. 

Not that Tim’s smell couldn’t be relaxing. God knows he was a grounding presence for him pretty much constantly nowadays. But it was different, like this, when all Jon could think about was the fact that at night, it became a dozen times harder for him to deny the way Tim made him feel, and the fact that the bed was definitely big enough for two. 

Stupid. So stupid. They were _friends,_ and the lack of control he had over his own emotions was embarrassing and frankly unprofessional. Even Jon wasn’t too stupid to realize that falling for one of your coworkers—especially the hot, effortlessly cool one who could get anyone he wanted and probably didn’t want to be tied down—was, logically, a phenomenally bad idea. 

But Tim was here. He wanted Tim, and he was right outside. What better time could there be? _What are you waiting for?_

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Jon decided he was fed up with overthinking. 

He slipped out of bed, not letting himself think too much, and reached to open the door. Before he could, it swung open. 

There stood Tim, looking impulsive and surprised and beautiful. 

Jon looked up at him. 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Tim replied, sounding breathless, and Jon’s heart pounded for half a second before he surged forward and pressed their lips together. 

Tim groaned a little into it, kissing back with no trace of hesitation, and cupped his hands gently around Jon’s face. 

_Oh._

It was always easy, between the two of them. Tim told his jokes, Jon did something innocuous, they made each other laugh. But the fluttering in his chest was something different, now. It was as if something had cracked, and let something else leak in, something more tender and real and hesitant. 

It was almost shocking how easy this change felt, too. Like Tim’s mouth moving against his was something close to unsurprising. Not quite _inevitable_ —it felt like too much of a choice for that—but it felt like the right choice. 

They were moving further into the room now. Jon couldn’t have said who was leading them there. 

By the time the backs of his knees hit the bed, sending them horizontal, Jon had already decided what he wanted tonight, and he’d decided that he wasn’t going to hold back. He reached around Tim’s back and tugged up his t-shirt. 

“Can I—”

“Yes, yes,” Tim was already saying. His hands slid under Jon’s own borrowed shirt, pushing it up. “Can I—?”

“Please,” Jon breathed, and was a bit shocked at how eager he sounded already. He grabbed Tim by the back of his neck and pulled him down into another kiss. It felt like fire. 

“Jon,” Tim mumbled against his mouth, when both of their shirts were finally off, and Jon’s hands were fumbling with the elastic of Tim’s shorts. “Maybe we should—” he pressed their lips together. “talk? About this?”

Jon, for his part, was feeling decidedly too lust-drunk to have a meaningful conversation. He kissed Tim’s jaw, helpless to deny the warmth of his skin. “Do you want me?”

“Want—want you how?”

Stupid question. Jon slid his hand under Tim’s shorts and gave a gentle squeeze. “Like this, Tim,” he said. Tim’s choked moan shot straight to his groin. “Do you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Tim groaned. “ _God,_ Jon, yes.”

Jon kissed his pulse. “Then we’re good,” he said. He bit down a little, just to see what kinds of sounds that resulted in. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Tim caught his mouth in a kiss again. By the time both of them had rid themselves of their boxers, any notion of talking that wasn’t gasps of praise was long gone. 

  
  


Jon’s head was still spinning a bit by the time he heard the shower shut off. 

This was—good, to say the least. It was almost unbelievable, that he had actually gotten what he wanted, that Tim had indulged this so immediately, and that it had all felt so... _natural._ Even if he hadn’t given any sort of real confession yet, he could do that tomorrow. For now, he was content with what they had. 

God. He actually slept with Tim. 

The exhaustion from earlier was starting to return, a little bit, but Jon adamantly refused to fall asleep until Tim came back to bed with him. He secretly hoped he wouldn’t put that t-shirt back on to go to sleep. 

The door opened. Tim stepped out of the bathroom, still shirtless, and squinted in response to Jon’s startled expression. “What?”

Jon laughed. “I just didn’t realize your hair was naturally straight.”

Tim scowled a little. “Hush. I’m fresh out of the shower, I’m not putting product in just to go to sleep.”

“Hey, you might,” Jon said. “I mean, you spend so much time messing with it at work, I wouldn’t be surprised if you—”

Tim kissed him, crawling over him on the bed. When he pulled away, he was grinning. “Shut up, we can’t all pull off the disheveled academic look.”

“ _Disheveled_ —” Jon started indignantly, before Tim kissed him quiet again. 

He fell asleep with Tim’s head resting on his chest, one hand buried absently in his hair and one slung behind his neck, holding him close. 

It was all just easy, shockingly so, and Jon held him like that all night. 

  
  


The next morning was less easy. 

They woke up together to the sun streaming through the window. “Well,” Tim said, sitting up. “Time to cash in on that talk.”

Jon’s stomach swirled a bit. Anxiety? Nerves? Something like that. “Okay,” he said, and sat up. “Can we get breakfast first?”

Tim thankfully agreed, and Jon was feeling much more awake by the time they were sat next to each other at the table, sipping coffee. 

“So,” Tim started again. 

“So.”

“We fucked,” he said bluntly.

Jon went red, elbowing him. “ _Tim._ ”

Tim laughed. “Well, we did. Now we gotta talk about what it means for us.”

“What do you want to…” Jon cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Like,” Tim sipped his coffee. “Did you like it? Was it a one-time thing? Was it something you would want to happen again?”

“I—yes, I liked it,” Jon said. _As if you couldn’t tell._ “A-and I would want it to happen again. Definitely. Although, I feel like I should say now…”

He stalled, hesitant. Tim gave him an encouraging look.

“I don’t always want...my sex drive can be unreliable. It probably didn’t translate with the way I, huh, jumped on you last night, but I’m not quite as...um, consistent with wanting sex as most people. There’s a lot of factors that—I mean, with you, it’s—well. Just so you know.” He took a breath. “God, sorry. I’ve been making assumptions. That is, if you would want to do this again…”

“I would,” Tim said, grinning. “I definitely would. I liked it too, for the record.”

Jon snorted. “I kind of got that impression.”

“Oh, shut up, you cocky bastard—”

“I’m just saying, you’re very vocal—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Tim said, and the two of them laughed for a second. 

Tim’s face went a bit more thoughtful, then, and a brief moment of hesitation passed over his face before he spoke. 

“Jon,” he started. “Do you—I mean, do you want this to mean something for us? Something—um, more?”

His expression was apprehensive, almost nervous, out of place on his usually-confident features. 

Oh God, Jon thought, his stomach doing an unpleasant swoop. He’s worried I’m going to want more. 

He swallowed. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “Tim, you’re one of my closest friends,” he said. “Don’t worry. That’s more than enough for me.”

Tim blinked. About three emotions passed over his face in rapid succession, far too quick for Jon to identify. 

“Okay,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee, turning his face away for a few seconds, and Jon took the chance to breathe. “Alright, um, cool. Great. Got that sorted. And I—just to clarify—we’re not exclusive, then?”

Jon was quiet. Tim frowned a little. “Unless, I mean—do you want to be?”

“No! No,” Jon said. Okay, this was fine too. Not quite what he wanted, but—he was _not_ going to be clingy, he was _not_ going to get in the way of Tim’s fun just because of his own stupid runaway feelings. “I mean, it’s fine. You can…sleep with whoever you want, it’s not my business.”

Tim looked at him. His expression was unreadable. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Go ahead. Like I said, I’m not...you’re asking because you’ve—ah, got your eye on someone else too, I’m assuming?”

“...Well, kind of,” Tim said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But Jon, you should know that I—”

“Tim, it’s fine,” Jon said. He wasn’t interested in hearing Tim’s platitudes, or his assurances that he’d be happy with Jon’s unpredictability when he surely wouldn’t. “I wouldn’t want to tie you down.”

He still looked unsure of Jon’s response, but Jon could see the moment he decided not to push it.

Jon smiled, trying his best to make it look genuine. He bumped Tim with his shoulder. “Tell me about them, then.”

Tim laughed a little, and Jon was glad to see the relieved kind of embarrassment on his face. “Heh, well. His name’s Martin Blackwood. He works in the library, I think he’s been there a while.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Dark skin, freckles, really fluffy hair…” Tim sighed a bit wistfully. “He always wears jumpers. Taller than you, though that’s not saying much.”

Jon scoffed and elbowed him, but something about the way Tim compared them soured his gut. He knew what he was like, he knew he wasn’t exactly—well, _hot,_ and if Tim was right and Martin was even half as attractive as he makes him sound, Jon had the terrible feeling he’d end up left in the dust sometime in the very near future. 

He headed home an hour or so later. He spent the rest of the day cursing himself for not speaking out sooner about exactly what he wanted, for kissing Tim before telling him, _hey, I think I actually might love you, I think this might be real._

But then he wouldn’t have gotten to kiss him at all. Better to have something than nothing. Anything to not have to hear that inevitable gentle rejection he would have gotten if he had spoken his mind. _Hey, Jon, sorry, but I don’t feel that way about you. We’re still good, yeah? Wouldn’t wanna make it awkward at work, you get it._

Yes, he thought. This is good. Not quite what he wanted, but better than nothing. 

  
  


The disappointing thing was that Tim was, in fact, right. 

Martin Blackwood was hot. He was quite a few centimeters taller than Jon, and his jumpers and his hair both looked unbearably soft, and he was solid and warm in a way Jon just wasn’t. 

The first time he ran into him in the break room, overhearing someone say his name, he spent a few seconds inconspicuously watching him, and his heart sank. 

He had dark skin and darker curls, and the round glasses on his face emphasized how bright his eyes were. He had broad shoulders and soft-looking hands cupped around a fresh mug of tea. 

For a burning second Jon wished intensely that he’d just blurted out the truth and told Tim he wanted to be exclusive. If Tim ever succeeded in getting into bed with this unassumingly gorgeous man he’d be a goner for sure. 

“Did you want tea?”

Jon blinked, jolted out of his stupor. Martin was looking expectantly at him, holding the box of black tea halfway to the cupboard. 

“What? Oh—uh, no thank you,” he said. 

“Are you sure? Because I accidentally made one cup too many, forgot Julie’s out sick today. You can have it, if you like.”

He picked up the steaming pink mug and extended it Jon’s way. Jon glanced down at it and, after a second of hesitation, took it. Martin’s knuckles bumped his own. 

Jon decided right then that he hated Martin Blackwood. Stupid, hot Martin with his jumpers and tea and attractive hands.

He hated him even more after he took a sip. The hate had increased exponentially by the time they moved to the archives, two months later, and found him suddenly working under him, there in his and _Tim’s_ vicinity all the fucking time. 

Just his fucking luck, honestly.

_(Stupid.)_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> fuck past tense all my homies hate past tense  
> sorry this is so late I started my college semester! busy times. next ones hopefully won’t take so long. thanks for reading leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed!!💕💕


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